#and there's this whole thing about making choices and living with the consequences

[luna-azzurra]

Writing a Morally gray character

Think about their backstory, what shaped them into who they are? What do they believe in? And, most importantly, what pushes them to get out of bed every morning and keep going? These characters aren’t simple good or bad. They’re caught in the middle, in that murky, complicated space between black and white. That’s where they get interesting because they’re constantly wrestling with themselves, trying to figure out the right choice, or if the “right” choice even exists for them.

You need to show this internal battle. Imagine your character being torn between what they believe is morally right and what they actually want. This is where the real drama comes in, it’s like watching them juggle their principles with their desires in real-time. They’ll mess up, and they’ll make decisions that are sometimes questionable, but that’s what makes them human and relatable. One way to really highlight their complexity is by putting them in situations where there’s no clear answer. You know, those moments in life where everything’s kind of a mess, and you’re stuck trying to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do? Your character should face situations like that. These gray areas create tension because readers won’t know which direction the character will go, and honestly, your character might not know either.

And don’t forget, growth is a huge part of writing a morally gray character. People aren’t static, they change based on what happens to them, and your character should too. Maybe they start off with a strong sense of morality but, over time, that starts to shift. Or maybe they start with shaky ethics and slowly become a better person as they learn from their mistakes. Growth can also go the other way, they could spiral downward, giving in to darker impulses. Either way, they need to evolve, just like people do in real life. That’s what keeps the story fresh and unpredictable. The last thing you want is a character that stays the same the whole way through.

Also, please, no stereotypes. A morally gray character doesn’t have to be a brooding anti-hero with a tragic past (unless that’s your vibe, but even then, switch it up). Give them quirks that make them unique. Maybe they have unexpected motivations, like they’re doing something shady for a cause they genuinely believe in, or they’ve got a weird sense of humor that throws people off. Whatever it is, make sure they feel like an individual, not just a copy-paste character we’ve all seen a million times.

Even when your character makes decisions that aren’t exactly clean-cut or heroic, the reader still needs to understand why. Show their vulnerabilities, why they doubt themselves, why they hesitate, and why they ultimately make the choices they do. It’s all about making them relatable, even when they’re walking that fine line between right and wrong. People might not always agree with them, but they should at least be able to see where they’re coming from.

And remember, every choice your character makes should have consequences. They don’t exist in a bubble. Their decisions should ripple out and affect not only them but the people around them. Maybe they make a selfish decision, and it ends up hurting someone they care about, or they try to do the right thing, and it blows up in their face. One last thing, just because your character lives in that gray area doesn’t mean they don’t have any sense of right or wrong. They might have their own personal code they follow, even if it doesn’t line up with society’s morals. Maybe they justify their actions in a way that makes sense to them, even if other people wouldn’t agree. It’s all about exploring that space where they’re not totally good, but not totally bad either. That’s where things get really interesting.

Think about where your character is going. Is their journey going to push them to become a better version of themselves? Will they fall back into old patterns and never really change? Or will they stay stuck in that moral gray zone, constantly torn between doing what’s right and doing what feels right for them?

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

This fandom created a myth about Lady Whistledown. Sometimes i wonder if i watched the same show. Let me make myself clear: While Penelope has to tell Colin the truth, because she loves him and he deserves it, LW helped the Bridgertons a lot actually. It saved them to have Daphne married to a creep ( and see how Violet wanted people to talk to reach LW and spread), saved Colin from a loveless marriage with children that he didn't know anything about it and saved Eloise. Yes, it saved Eloise. Eloise created and kept pushing the situation in her reckless pursuit. Eloise also didn't think about the consequences of her action towards the people working for LW, didn't listen to Penelope, didn't think about the risk she was putting people at. And while i understand her anger in not knowing, had she been a better friend, many other things would be different, because she truly never paid attention to what Penelope feels or want, she molded Pen to be whom she wanted and be her audience. And then, she left Pen with the choice of losing all she built and suffer consequences or pick the less harmful option: to make Eloise's scandal about politics, not romantic and save them both, plus Theo. The real ruin for Eloise would've been her being caught with Theo, something that was bound to happen as she was not careful at all. Why should Pen sacrifice all for Eloise? Would any of you sacrifice all ( job, family and possibly your liberty) for a friend who caused the bloody situation? I'm no hypocrite, i know i wouldnt. Not to mention Eloise bravado, to Pen she would say she wants to challenge society and doesn't care about what they think...but folded the moment she received a frown from the Ton. Shall we see who are LW victims, people that suffered real consequences? Lord Beerbrock. That's it. Marina is married, despite her lies and deceit. Colin? Nothing as well, in fact, happier than ever. Eloise? A few weeks of ostracism and she's back without a problem, without a romantic entanglement to ruin her. One that she clearly didn't really thought was deep enough to face society. The Bridgertons have more to thank LW than to hate her. And Violet and Anthony, i bet your asses, do think so, and see it. And The Queen? Are you watching the show? Have you seen Charlotte's personality? That woman loves the whole game with LW. And She loves to take it all, to receive the laurels of that society. As long as she can make it look like the won, and she can, easily, by revealing or be involved in revealing who is LW. See the whole KatexEdwina, how she handled the Ton there.

Anyway, just wanted to say something because some people have dreamed a LW that doesn't exist at all. Created on their own minds a boogeyman that wasn't simply reporting the truth with witty opinions but fabricating stories and lies to ruin lives, and that's simply not true. Never happened. There was never a lie created there. Only the truth, even about herself, as Pen was often damaged by her column.

[cameatslemons]

mouthwashing post. jimmy is a raging narcissist and im tired of people trying to give him benefit of the doubt. his inability to see two feet beyond what immediately concerns him dooms everyone on the tulpar, and even in the end, he only really cares about himself.

big list of all his narcisstic bullshit below bc im here to motherfucking prove it (mouthwashing spoilers of course)

most obviously: everything is a personal attack on him. EVERYTHING. you can see it most clearly at the birthday party; while everyone else is understandably freaking out about being laid off, jimmy starts telling curly off and insulting both him and everyone else at the table, as if being laid off is a personal attack on jimmy specifically. it doesn’t matter that anya has nothing to go back to, that swansea’s life is thrown away- jimmy is the ONLY victim here, apparently. curly is personally responsible for getting laid off, in his eyes.

i don’t actually know the words for this but the way he’s constantly going “i have to do EVERYTHING around here”- again, feeling like its a personal attack to be asked anything at all. anya asks him to take care of curly because her entire fucking life is falling apart, its her end of days, but somehow shes the villain for struggling.

also the general antagonization of anya. she’s extremely competent for the hand she was dealt! shes too poor to attend med school yet shes very knoqledgable in medication and wound care! and yeah no shit shes struggling now, someone she cared deeply about is suffering immensely and now the ship is being “run” by a man who assaulted her. no fucking shit shes breaking down. but jimmy makes it clear time and time again that this is somehow her fault, all this shit of “shouldn’t nurses EARN their titles?” while she’s having a mental breakdown.

similarly, swansea being villainized for holding the cryopod for daisuke and killing him. like, i get it, but jimmy’s whole thing of saying he can fix daisuke is… c’mon man. he’s a hero to himself, he “always” fixes things the same way he “fixed” the ship, and he will fix daisuke and claim heroism even though it’s very clear nothing else can be done for him.

“someday you’ll thank me” while forcing curly to eat his own leg. the incredible confidence that he is in the right even when literally torturing someone.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: the final scene with curly burning. jimmy doesn’t earnestly believe he has anything to be sorry for. even when apologizing to curly he says “we can BOTH be heroes!” despite everything, he still thinks he’s in the right. he STILL thinks he’s a hero, because he’s right, he’s ALWAYS right, surely. he can apologize and grovel all he wants but in the end he still thinks he’s the hero of this story; he doesn’t genuinely think he has anything to right, he’s only doing this to be freed of consequence. and/or believes a simple “sorry” is enough, that it can fix completely ruining the lives of four people with his own inferiority complex.

i do think the choice to put curly in the pod instead of himself is the only time he recognizes his own guilt, if any. maybe it’s realizing that he DOES need something more than a simple “sorry” to even begin to try to fix things, maybe it’s that he thinks this will cement him even further as a hero. even then, does this fix anything? all it’s doing is making curly suffer more. is this actually a good thing?

to him, he’s the hero here. he always is. crashing the ship is a heroic thing, putting all his crewmates through hell is a heroic thing. all because something nobody can control is somehow a personal attack on jimmy.

not to mention all the “hallucinations” he has- it’s what he thinks should happen, it’s what he wants to hear. curly still calling him a friend, the dead corpses of his crewmates praising him, even in the final cutscene with curly burning where he says “no, YOU take the pod”. none of it’s real. it’s just what jimmy thinks is “right”. despite everything, he thinks everyone should thank and praise him, because he can do no wrong.

conclusion: jimmy is a narcisstic piece of shit.

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. A fake relationship was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭🙃

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

────────────

❤️ 10M — 💬 287,54k

@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl. 

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press for the upcoming albums. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?” 

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall. 

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately. 

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause. 

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”  Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt. 

This was Ellie fucking Williams. 

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it. 

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused. 

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Yeah” She sighed “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her. 

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y���all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

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taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[artist-issues]

Let’s be real. Rachel Zegler is responsible for her own actions and attitude and bad taste, and she’s hurt her own image.

But the Snow White movie isn’t failing because of Rachel Zegler alone. It’s failing because it sucks as a whole. It’s failing because these remakes are Disney trying to flash colors and names and sounds we recognize in front of our faces and go “we made the sound you like, now beg for a treat,” instead of making a good story, or at least paying genuine tribute to one. But their audiences (most of them) are not going to shell out for a bad product, and that’s it.

I hate how Rachel Zegler talks about the real Snow White.

But I also think if she were 100% respectful and wanted to pay genuine tribute to the original and really understood the character, it still wouldn’t have saved this remake. Because the story got changed. The effects are bad. The songs are worse.

I also think the company is totally fine subtly pinning the entire disaster on Rachel Zegler as a way to make it look like her fault and distract from the fact that they made another bad movie and this time nobody went to see it.

If they can get everybody talking and commenting about the 23 year-old who won’t stop running her mouth, and how “Even Disney is pulling her from the press tour!” then they’re painted in a slightly better light and then nobody’s talking about the fact that they made another bad movie. They’re talking about how insipid one actress is.

I have lots of posts defending the original Snow White or analyzing it or talking about why load-bearing parts of it shouldn’t be changed…but by far the one that gets the most clicks and reblogs is the one that’s focused on Rachel Zegler’s comments.

So Disney’s strategy is working. Yall would rather make hubbub about a 23 year-old girl’s immature lack of understanding than you would the bigger problem; there’s a whole company of executives and producers and shareholders who think they can buy your time and repurpose your nostalgia while they corrode the original—and then when it goes wrong they let you eat one actress alive instead of taking the blame, themselves.

Rachel Zegler is an actress. More than anybody, she is responsible for her own mannerisms and choices when it comes to how she presents what she thinks and what she supports. She’s responsible for her own actions. She’s not responsible for all of the company’s actions, though.

And again real quick—the reason any of it is important is because stories convincingly harness your emotions to argue for certain values. Values strung together make up a worldview. A worldview fuels your choices. And choices have eternal consequences, they make or break the world we live in and the world our kids live in. Therefore stories are a hammer in a storyteller’s hand: they can build or break the audience.

Disney’s been using the fact that they are a unique storyteller—they have the upper hand, they raised us on their older stories so our emotions from being kids are tangled up in their older stories—to take advantage of us. They’re using their “hammer” as a weapon to make them money, not a building tool to make the world better.

But watch Disney keep subtly pretending to “be on our side about the whole Rachel Zegler thing, boy isn’t she the worst?” until the next Live Action gets cast, when they cast someone vaguely conservative-leaning or someone who’s still amazingly liberal leaning, but has been coached to say all the right things about the original in press tours. So that bloggers and content-creators and influencers can start their reels with phrases like, “looks like Disney has finally learned its lesson in casting after the Rachel Zegler mistake!”

And that’s so not the point, also it’s super underhanded. Don’t fall for it.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Scarlet Lady Top 10 Favorite Characters: Number 10

For @zoe-oneesama

Number 9 Here

Okay, I realized as I was writing these that there is way way WAY too much to each of these and why to be able to put them all into one post, so I'm breaking them down into individual essays focusing on each one to keep them palatable.

So without further ado....

Number 10: EVERYONE

Yeah, I know it may be cheating but at this point it was the only choice I could make.

I came to regret making this list, specifically because I couldn’t seem to make up my mind as far as who all would be on it. I reread the entire series. I kept switching people in and out as I was reminded of characters or scenes I loved. And I came to a realization that there is no character in the whole of this series I didn’t enjoy to some extent that they didn't deserve some love in this list and I kind of wish I could have added all of them just to give them all some spotlight.

Yes, it is partly because everyone is vastly improved compared to Canon. But as I reread the series, it came to mind that if Canon didn’t exist and I didn’t have the comparison between the characters, I still very much would have loved this series and everyone in it.

Cause and Effect Exist

It's important to have a setting in which the characters and their actions make sense for the world they live in. When the setting is supposed to be modern day earth, we need the people to be able to show that they are capable of surviving in it on a day to day basis without being so massively incompetent that they would do something like accidentally ingesting poison. Or forgetting how to breathe.

I would think it would be obvious, but sometimes Canon makes me wonder. Which is never a good look for a show that is supposed to have some level of seriousness and involve superheroes.

Here’s the thing Canon can’t seem to get: when a majority of the things that go wrong in a plot are because of everyone having to be stupid to make the plot work, you have a problem with the writing. Changing the material in a story so that younger people can enjoy it does NOT mean dumbing down the characters and throwing in arbitrary lessons with no real reason to them. Even if the show itself is geared towards kids, you can’t treat the audience like they’re stupid.

In Scarlet Lady, the people aren’t stupid.

Silly, yes. Wrong, often. Overdramatic, definitely. But while they may make stupid choices sometimes, they aren’t so dumb that anyone should have concerns about their ability to function at a higher level than an overcaffinated 2 year old.

They’re fooled initially the way many of us would be with a biased story that hits the news first. Oblivious to the problems in a situation that they logically wouldn’t have much direct insight into. Prone to making mistakes and incorrect judgement the way that anyone would. That's normal. That's expected.

But they’re not so incapable as to forget things that happen right in front of them between one day and the next. Or even between one scene and the next.

Things carry over. We see cause and effect. We see consequences—bad and good. And those consequences extend not only for the episode or season but for the entire series.

Aurore KNOWs Alec cheated her before and maintains a tight control over him and prevents more of his antics.

Adrien and Alya maintain a cold attitude towards Lila for some time after her reveal as a liar. And it even remains a point against her as used by Chloe as herself and as Scar to discount what she says.

The boys of the class remember Adrien’s “love letter to Marigold” and try to win him her merch because they’re bros like that. 

Adrien himself remembers the instances of his dad being a massive prick and instead of being surprised and “sad boi uwuwu” each time it happens like it’s supposed to be a surprise that the massive prick would choose to be a prick, he very clearly moves through the stages of grief to the point of a sort of acceptance that involves planning around and even for him.

Gabriel’s horrible parenting and general lack of concern for Adrien or his wellbeing as he ends up a casualty of various akuma attacks was played off for laughs when such incidents occurred. Then they were brutally called out against him in the Finale as a way to counter his claims of doing everything for Adrien’s sake. And the big reveal of the Birthday Scarf…utilized in the last way anyone would have wanted.

And Chloe is perhaps the biggest example as her antics ARE NOT forgotten or ignored by anyone. The classmates still interact with Chloe and are relatively nice to her, but they don’t just forget that she’s treated them horribly. They don’t act surprised when she does anything horrible. Nor does anyone just laugh it off or excuse it as “just who she is”. We see follow up to her behavior—the class fully expecting her to cause trouble and actively try to plan around it. People calling her out on past behaviors. And even bigger consequences as time goes on. Such as Adrien breaking off the friendship. And a blink and you miss it fridge logic moment in Ikari Gozen when you realize that when they said she was banned from all future Gabriel-involved competitions, they meant it.

The fact that by the time the big reveal happened that Chloe was Scarlet Lady, no one was shocked.

Story-wise, this is showing the passage of time and the effect the events of the story are having. It’s showing that there is lasting impact and that what happens to the characters matters.

Meta-wise, this is Zoe rewarding us for paying attention.

Continuity exists in Scarlet Lady. Time exists. The people exist. When anyone does anything, you get the sense that they aren’t operating in a vacuum. The things they do matter. There are consequences. There is an impact. And if there is an impact in the story, there will be an impact on the audience.

Which leads to…

Character Depth/Character Growth

Usually in TV shows of this nature, if there ARE character arcs for the side characters, they only occur over the course of a single episode devoted to focusing on them before moving on elsewhere. 

Canon didn’t give us that much at all in favor of having every episode that should focus on other characters learning and growing instead forcing Marinette to be wrong in some way and learn an arbitrary lesson that often would have better served for someone else.

In Scarlet Lady, the arcs we get are impressive for all that they’re relatively unobtrusive. They aren’t big. They aren’t world-ending. And the thing is, most change in life isn’t. It can just FEEL that way.

Like the way it felt for Kim when he first found out Ondine liked him and then had his confession to her screwed up.

And the way it felt for Kagami when she lost that first match against Adrien.

Then there’s the way it felt for Chloe when she was dismissed by her mother, had her popularity go downhill, and ended up losing her Miraculous.

…or the way it felt for Adrien when he discovered his dad was Hawk Moth.

The reactions we witness are in a great part due to actions outside of the characters’ control, but are ultimately a result of the experiences they have had and the ways they have changed as a result.

The question becomes: are the characters that we meet at the beginning pretty much identical to how they are at the end? Is the world?

The answer in Scarlet Lady is no.

Whether because the characters themselves change or our perception of them does, we can see that they have all undergone some sort of events that create a difference between the start and end points.

Not all of them HAVE to undergo some big emotional arc. Not all of them NEED to. But the characters still mostly go through some sort of growth by the end that I feel make them stronger and healthier people.

You’ve got the big life-altering changes like Lila and Sabrina.

You’ve got the little changes like Nino and Ivan.

You’ve even got the most minuscule, beginning stages of change in Chloe.

You’ve got growth that creates such perfect setup with Mylene when she starts off scared and traumatized by how things went with Stoneheart then is the one who confronts him in the end. And the parallel between the finale and the beginning when she returns him to normal by kissing him just like they did in that first episode to change him back then, too! (Just….GOD, I CANNOT GET OVER THIS!)

You’ve got them reaching out and making friends and relating to people they hadn’t before.

And by the end of it all, we get characters who feel like people rather than props.

They don’t all have to change. They don’t necessarily need to go through an entire emotional arc and back again. They just need to be part of the world they’re in.

Nino doesn’t just pop into existence when Adrien or Alya need someone to interact with. Kagami isn’t just a non-horrible or non-evil love rival for Adrien or a stepping stool for him to “practice“ at being in a relationship before it’s time for him to try the “real thing” with his endgame pairing. Luka isn’t just a decent guy who is the only actual form of support for the female lead and yet only lacking that precious “male lead” title or all around just not “Adrien enough” to fill the role.

Adrien isn’t just a “sad boy” meant to be a main love interest, Villain’s Morality Pet, and the one everyone idolizes and chases after just cuz he’s the male lead and that’s how you show he’s desirable I guess. Marinette isn’t the atlas keeping the story alive because no one else is apparently capable of learning lessons and changing, or even just the bare basics of functioning as individuals. Chloe isn’t just there to be horrible for no reason and get away with it so she can continue to be horrible until the writers suddenly need her to be sympathetic.

And the rest of the classmates aren’t just some Greek chorus there to fill the background.

We see them interact. We see them making jokes or jabs. We see them even…*gasp* having different opinions!

And on something as major and life-controlling as feelings about the “Hero of the City” no less! Why, that’s the sort of thing that would break up friendships and determine who you can sit next to at the cafeteria! The horror! The scandal!

And…oh hey. This puts the characters in different groups. It links them with characters other their Canonically designated pairings and groups. This lets them disagree on things and not need to vilify any of them. This creates implications that add depth to the story and to the people in it.

The characters can disagree without being enemies. They can be wrong without having to be evil. They can make mistakes without having to be stupid. And they can change and grow—both for better and worse.

And we see both and in different ways. SO many different ways.

Adrien goes from excited and impulsive to buckling under the forced responsibility and weight of a partner who hinders more than she helps.

Lila goes from selfishly bad and self-serving to selfish but friendly with better direction of her talents in a less self-serving way.

And Chloe just goes from selfish and bad to selfish and worse..

I mean, it says something that the combination of Lila’s growth and Chloe’s fall from grace resulted in Hawk Moth being unable to use Lila as a tool for his Heroes Day plot like he originally intended.

The key is that whether they necessarily grow or become better people, these characters are still IMPACTED by the events around them and AFFECTED as a natural result of the world they live in. 

You can’t help but feel for them in some way as a result. It’s part of why I love them.

The other part of why I love them is a bit more epic though…

Crowning Moments of Awesome

If there’s one thing I love, it’s seeing characters be awesome. I love it when characters get to be awesome. I would love to see more of it. Especially when the ones involved are characters you wouldn’t normally expect or get to see have a chance to shine.

And it’s when you see these characters be awesome that you really get the sense that yes, this character would work as a hero.

Seeing Max help against Robustus. Seeing Kim help against Odine. Alix stepping in during Pharaoh, calling out her brother’s fan fiction, and helping the heroes escape the security system at the Lourve. Alya stepping in during Copycat to clue Chat in to what’s going on and later keeping Anansi distracted to keep her away from Chat while he’s trapped. Rose kicking Nightmare!Chat in the face to defend Marinette even when she’s dealing with her own nightmares in Sandboy. Luka leading groups twice to stepping in and helping the heroes deal with akumas. Nathaniel standing up for Marinette and Sabrina when they’re accused in Rogercop and then helping the heroes in Reverser. Seeing the entire class step up to try and protect Marinette in Befana. Seeing all the friends working together to compete in the Friendship Contest in order to protect Adrien from a less serious but still potentially terrifying outcome.

These little moments of support make such a big different and really make it make sense that the heroes would trust these people with magical jewelry to help them in battle.

And the little moments of characters being petty or strong or smart or turning the tables or just showing off what they’re capable of. Even without superpowers.

Adrien getting petty revenge for Nino and finding a tactic to counter Gabriel in the future.

The Police Force in Rogercop just saying “Nope” to obeying an obvious akuma. 

Zoe manipulating akumas twice to help the heroes. Her two Reasons You Suck Speeches to her mom and Bustier.

Every instance of payback that Tikki gets against Chloe.

Everyone in the Finale. Just…EVERYONE in the Finale. The characters who manage to avoid akumatization by either spotting the flaws in the illusion or refusing to give in to fear and even protecting others. Nora smacking any akuma that enters the home. Claudie pulling off Power Mom and ordering Max to stop attacking the city then helping to calm him down. Prince Ali and Juleka freeing Rose by kissing her! Chris, Ella, Etta, and Manon saving Mylene! Mylene saving Ivan with a kiss in a direct callback to how they first got together in Stoneheart! (Yes, I am still stuck on that!) Ondine saving Kim! Lila and Sabrina saving Alix! Luka facing Riposte alone and unarmed and then Kitty Section saving Kagami! ALL of the Heroes making a final comeback to help take down Hawk Moth for good! Just—AAAAAH!

How could Miraculous have peaked with this in Season 2 when this is Grand Finale material? Because there are few things more awesome than getting to see ALL the characters the heroes met and befriended and helped throughout the course of the story stepping up at the final battle to help take the Big Bad down!

Like…can we just take a moment to appreciate how everyone gets a chance to stand out in some way? Not all of them necessarily good, exactly (looking at you Andre). But still stand out and be memorable. Even characters who didn’t originally get much focus. Especially characters who were originally functioning as cardboard cutouts to fill a scene.

Anyone remember Aurore? How for the FIRST akuma in the pilot of the series and one who is quite frankly the most interesting and noteworthy, we don’t really get to see her again except in the background.

In Scarlet Lady, we got to actually look in to the contest and how she lost as well as the aftermath. She wasn’t some arrogant showoff who deserved to lose to the “sweet down to earth rival”, she was a girl who legitimately tried her best and had valid reason to be upset. Seeing her get revenge on Alec for cheating and humiliating her on live TV was well worth it.

Or how about the Photographer? Just there to take photos of Adrien in the park for a photo shoot or be the school photographer, but otherwise has no personality and is only remembered for his weird “spaghetti” line.

In Scarlet Lady, his role is two-fold. He acts as a sort of supporter for Adrien in his crush. Taking really good pictures of him being happy with the girl he likes. Taking more class photos at the behest of this girl for the sake of a friend who missed out on the class picture. And then there’s his OTHER role as a sort of antagonist to Chloe. He becomes one of the only ones in the early seasons willing and capable of dismissing her tantrums.

They’re both given more character. They get moments to stand out and BE awesome. So is everyone.

EVERYONE. From the classmates and big named characters we see regularly to the side characters who only appear once or twice. They all get some good scenes and focus that give them their own identities. All of them are memorable. None of them can really be ignored or forgotten. And part of what made making this list so difficult was that I found myself getting attached to pretty much everyone as I came across each of them that I couldn’t quite make up my mind.

Everyone in this fic has done something to make me happy and warrant my approval. Even the characters I normally wouldn’t like at all had their moments to shine and elicit an “okay, that was cool” from me.

Thus I grant this spot to everyone. To all the characters I don’t get the chance to mention. To all the ones I like albeit somewhat less than others. To all the ones I know are horrible but can’t help but like regardless. To all the ones I fought with myself for THREE MONTHS over which one would get this spot.

I love all of them.

[championari]

So I’m constantly thinking about Charles and how he could eventually meet Edwin with his feelings.

Here’s something I realized: Charles, despite constantly talking about things he miss, things he wants, he actually has a complicated relationship with desire as a concept.

How I would put it is by taking Supernatural as an example. There’s an episode in Season 5 where the boys meet Famine, a horseman of the apocalypse. However, Dean is not at all affected by him. It’s because due to being the older brother, and a Hunter, Dean was never allowed to consider acting on or even having desire for anything.

You can see where I’m going with this. Charles, like Dean, doesn’t actually believe he should want anything, due to “not being good enough”.

This is something actually touched on subtly in the show through the acting. When Niko says, “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.” Edwin directly looks at The Cat King’s bracelet, while Charles stares off into space. When Tragic Mick describes Angie’s light as enforcing a sense of yearning, Edwin looks at Charles, while again, Charles looks off blankly (can’t access screenshots right now). Edwin knows what he wants but is scared of it, while Charles doesn’t know what he wants because he can’t allow himself to consider it. This gives an entirely new meaning to Charles’ hatred of the Cat King. A supernatural entity who describes his kingdom as being about “want and pleasure”. Thomas is the encapsulation of everything Charles was never allowed to have. Charles chases after things that he knows he can’t have, romancing a living girl despite knowing she will eventually leave. Charles can’t consider returning Edwin’s feelings because that would mean he’s been running away from what’s been in front of him the whole time. That what he wanted was always there, at his lowest point, when he thought he deserved it least.

Returning Edwin’s feelings means he was already enough. And Charles can’t imagine that yet.

While I would obviously adore an interaction between Charles and Desire of The Endless, ultimately I don’t think it would do anything. Like Dean, Charles might be completely unaffected by them because he’s spent most of his existence building walls around his desires. Edwin was completely blindsided by Thomas because he never even considered having to think about Desire due to having no attraction to women and that being the dominant narrative of his time. Charles pursues Crystal because he still wants to feel like he has a chance at “normal life” (which as I said is self-punishment by throwing himself at something he knows he can’t have). To accept that he’s in love with Edwin would mean no longer pursuing a living person. Edwin would be it for him, which he kind of already gets but it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Just like his death

There's also this exchange that drives me nuts:

"You gave up tranquil eternity…for your friend?" "Does that sound like someone who belongs in Hell?"

THIS. MAKES. ME. INSANE. Because Charles, like he always does when confronted with his own wants, completely avoids it. He doesn't respond to The Night Nurse's obvious confusion as to why he ran from Death, and instead turns the conversation back to Edwin. He makes it all about what Edwin deserves, not what Charles saw in Edwin that led him to make that choice. You could say this is practical as time is of the essence, but I think that's the point. Charles throws away the chance to explain his viewpoint on their first meeting, the consequences of his choice to run from Death with a boy he just met and knew for a few hours, and instead remains single-minded on Edwin's safety. Like when Edwin reasonably questioned, "Why are you getting angry?" when he began freaking out over Thomas getting close to Edwin, he says nothing.

There's just so much happening in that head that I can't stop thinking about.

[sweetbunpura]

Filled with Static...

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Sorry in advance~

Yuu watches with hollow eyes as Fellow and Gidel depart without having to face the consequences of their actions. Everyone jokes around her about what they just went through, but static is rapidly and quickly filling Yuu's ears. She moves away from the group and makes her way down a street, unaware of the sound of footsteps behind her. A hand lands on her shoulder and she's quick to slap it off.

"Ow, rude much?"

Yuu turns to see Ace with his arms crossed. "What?"

"Just wanted to know why you took off like that."

"Why do you care?"

"Wow, jeez." Ace scoffed. "I knew you were snippy from the start, but I thought that would've cleared up. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal!?" Her voice echoes throughout the small area of the docks. "Ace, are you fucking blind as well as a total fucking moron!?" She jabs her hand to where Playful Land used to be. "We almost got turned into puppets and sold off because of you guys!"

"Hey, we got out in the end!"

"No, we didn't. If Fellow hadn't gotten that phone call, we'd be goners." The others have stopped a few feet away, but Yuu ignores them. "And you're cracking jokes about it."

"Well, destroying the park was-"

"I mean about the whole thing, you brainless baboon." She snarls. "From the start, you ignored all the fucking warning signs that said you should stay far away from this man. Did Azul tricking you not ring any bells in that empty head of you?" She tapped her finger against Ace's forehead. "And even when you were told that the warning signs were blaring red, you still ignored them."

"Hold on." Ace growled. "Why am I getting signaled out?"

"Oh it's not just you, Ace." She points behind him. "It goes double for those cacophony of idiots."

"Wow, rude, Yuu-chan..." Cater mutters.

"I get that you guys are like this. It's all fun and games to the ones who can use magic." She shakes her hand in a mocking way. "But this is just another scar on my body that I do not need." She pulls up her sleeves to show the overblot scars...as well as a new wooden looking scar on her wrist. "You guys think this is a joke, when it's not. You're risking my life with your guys shit."

"You came with us!" Ace argues.

"Cause I had to make sure my useless excuse for a fucking cat didn't keel over and die!" Yuu shouts and begins shoving Ace. "You. Treat. Me. Like. I'm. Expendable." She pushes him back. "I'm a living being too, jack ass, what I have done to warrant being treated lower than dirt? Every time this happens, and I almost lose my life in the process... how many more times is this going to be an almost before it actually happens?"

The red head narrows his eyes and snorts. "If you hate it here so much, why don't you just go back home?"

"Ace..." Lilia tries to say but is cut off by Yuu socking Ace in the face and sending him to the ground.

"NEWS FLASH, ASSHOLE!" The look in Yuu's eyes are murderous. "I'VE BEEN TRYING TOO! YOU GUYS CAN JUST CALL UP YOUR FAMILY OR SEND THEM A QUICK TEXT TO CHECK UP ON THEIR WELL BEING! YOU'RE A PORTAL AWAY FROM HOME! I HAVE NOTHING, I GOT NOTHING, I HAVE NO FAMILY HERE AND I AM REMINDED OF IT EVERY DAY BY YOU GUYS AND BY CROWLEY!" Tears well up in her eyes. "I've had it here. I'm gone. I'm leaving NRC, I'm getting far away from you guys." She turns to leave and rubs her eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your fucking lives."

"Yuu-chan!"

"Shrimpy!"

"Herbivore, come back!"

"Potato!"

"Henchhuman!" Grim tries to follow after her only to lower his ears and back up as she shoots the darkest glare she can muster at him. "I'm....I'm..."

Yuu disappears into the morning crowd that had gathered to learn what the commotion was about. She did not return to NRC that day...rather Crewel had found her, curled up outside his temporary house.

"Oh, Pup...." He pulls his coat off, wraps it around the crying young lady, and helps her inside.

[yelenasbraid]

the one I run to — joe burrow

summary — you’re out with your friends when you start to notice someone’s been watching you.

warnings — fem!reader, protective!joe, creepy guy, some suggestive comments, fluff, language, names used for friends’ names ( so sorry if i use yours! )

requested by — anon <3

YOU LOVED COOLER WEATHER. the soft breeze through your hair, the big sweaters and the hats. it brought back memories of college, of friends and the sweet times you had. those same college friends came up to see you, and you couldn’t be more excited.

“you literally haven’t aged,” one of your friends, cassandra, laughed as you sat down at a table. the restaurant you chose was a cute spot, warm lights dangled from the ceiling while the smell of wood filled your nostrils. it was one of your favorite places around town.

“cass, it’s been four years,” you defended, scooting in your chair.

“still, i feel like the stress of being a WAG would get the grey hairs going,” cass joked, earning an eye roll from you.

“i think i see some already,” your other friend, courtney, commented, going to point out said grey hairs. you smacked her hand away.

“you both are bullies. did you come up to ohio just to bully me?” you asked jokingly, making both girls laugh. both girls were your roommates at one point, and after that the three of you became fast friends. you did everything together in college, so graduating, knowing you were parting ways, made it ten times harder.

flashback

you embraced the two of them, tears stinging your eyes. you didn’t care about your makeup at this point; the three of you were going to be parting ways for who knows how long.

“you better text me,” courtney wiped her eyes as she playfully shoved you, “especially with you dating the golden boy,”

“oh hush,” you laughed, wrapping her in another hug. leaving would be the hardest thing for you. those girls showed you good people existed, that you were worthy of friendship. they were apart of you, and now it felt like time was ripping them away.

“we’ve gotta have like an annual catch up or something,” cass sniffled, pulling away from the embrace.

“you won’t be able to get rid of us,” you reassured.

end of flashback

you felt whole again with them there. this wasn’t to say that you weren’t friends with some of the WAGs on the bengals or that joe wasn’t enough. he was, and you were friends with some of the WAGs. you and jess, sam’s fiancée, were particularly close. it was just different with friends you’ve known for a lot longer.

you ordered your drinks and then your food choices.

“so, give me the tea,” courtney spoke, sipping on her wine.

“what tea is there?” you asked her. while you and joe kept your lives pretty private, everyone knew you were together. everyone knew that joe was absolutely smitten with you.

“oh come on, you’re dating joe burrow. there’s obviously some tea. and where’s that ring?”

“he hasn’t proposed yet,”

“imma beat that boy’s ass,” cass muttered, causing you to choke on your drink. you had no idea what was in joe’s mind, but you’ve had the marriage talk. you’ve talked about getting married and that you were meant to get married. he just hasn’t put a ring on it, yet.

catching up with them was always special. cass told you about her husband and her 3 year old at home. courtney told you about her business and the cute guy who works next to her. you shared struggles, the things that caused you to stumble. you had the opportunity to lift each other up, to fill each other’s cups in the time that you had.

after you’ve had your fill, three drinks in with a full belly, the three of you figured it was time to leave. you didn’t want to hold up the restaurant any longer, even if you guys didn’t want to leave.

“don’t freak out,” courtney started, which consequently unsettled your stomach.

“what?”

“there’s a guy who’s been staring at you for the past 5 minutes,” she whispered to you, concern furrowing her brow. you were used to people staring at you, especially since you were dating joe. people wanted to ask you questions, and they weren’t always of innocent intent.

you turn and meet eyes with the guy, who’s sitting by himself, a drink in front of him. he makes no move to break eye contact with you, but he does wink at you. it unsettled you, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. you didn’t like his expression or what he was insinuating.

“he’s probably just a fan. he shouldn’t follow us out,” you told them. you were comforting yourself, but your gut told you a different story. it told you that this guy had other intentions and he wasn’t going to leave you alone.

you pack up your things, pay the bill, and fill your mouth with the last of your drink before walking out. you flicked your eyes back over to the man again, who had moved closer to you. he was still staring at you, his eyes flicking over your body. he was checking you out, and it made you very uncomfortable. you shivered, walking out of the restaurant. before you left for dinner, you liked your outfit. it was cute, it was comfortable, and you felt confident in it. now, you tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, worried about any exposed skin.

the three of you gather in front of a window into the restaurant, a warm glow cast on your faces. you still felt eyes on you, the prickling sensation on the back of your neck confirming such. this was different, you knew that. you also knew that you parked in a different area than your friends did. that fact alone tightened your chest and labored your breathing.

you’d be fine. you could handle yourself.

“you ok?” courtney asked you, snapping you out of your trance.

“yeah, yeah. he’s just really freaking me out,” you admitted to them. courtney looked in the window, catching the guy who was staring at you. she made a face at him, breaking the eye contact he had with her. you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

“needed a little embarrassment,” she shrugged. you hoped she was right. even though you were in a happy relationship, it didn’t stop other guys from hitting on you. it didn’t stop other guys from ogling, from making sleazy comments. it didn’t stop them from denying reality, wanting you to be theirs. you hoped that this guy in particular just needed to be told to shove off.

the three of you started walking down the street. the sun was setting, golden hues lighting your way. you guys stayed together, laughing and giggling as you went. your eyes caught movement, and you turned your head to see the man from earlier walking on the sidewalk across from you. it had to be a coincidence. you didn’t say anything, chalking it up to be paranoia. you were with friends. joe was a phone call away. you’d be ok.

you take out your phone and unlock it, hovering a finger over joe’s contact. you decided against calling him, at least for now. you didn’t need to bother him with this right now. you reached their parking lot, and you looked back, seeing no sign of him. you let out a breath of air.

“it was so good seeing you,” you chirped, feeling in a much better mood. you hugged each of them before they departed to their cars. the deck you parked in was right across the street.

“you good to walk there by yourself?” courtney called from her car. you contemplated taking her up on her implied offer, but you shook your head.

“i’m ok, thanks. i’ll call joe while i walk over,” you reassured her. she smiled, getting into her car, and driving off. you were met with silence again. you watched your friends leave, and as your eyes followed their cars, you saw him again. your heart caught in your throat, your breath hitching.

this is how crime documentaries started.

you pulled out your phone again, not hesitating to call joe. your breath picked up, watching the guy down the street from you. he was leaning against the wall, lighting a cigarette. based off of the lighting of the fire hitting his face, he was white. he was wearing dark clothes and had dark hair. you kept those physical descriptions in your mind, just in case.

“baby?” you heard joe’s voice on the other side of the phone, grounding you.

“hey! i’m walking over to the parking deck and wanted to call you,” you explained, maybe a little too brightly. you started towards the crosswalk, which would make the walk to the parking deck a tad longer. you stole a look at the guy, and he’d put out his cigarette and started after you.

“are you ok?” he asked you. joe knew that you sounded off; something was up.

“um,” you started, glancing back as you crossed the street, seeing the mystery guy pick up the pace, “i need you,” your voice shook with the realization you were being followed. ruffles were heard on the other side of the phone, which meant silence.

“joe?”

“i’m on the way, just keep walking to the parking deck, i’ll be there in 15 minutes,” he informed you. he slipped on some shoes, grabbed his keys, and walked into the garage. he didn’t have to ask, you didn’t have to explain. he heard the shakiness of your voice, and that alone threw him into overdrive. no one messed with his woman, no one got away with scaring her.

he got into the car, opening the garage, and pulled out. all while on the phone with you.

“wait 15 minutes? isn’t the restaurant like 30 from the house?” you asked, walking into the parking deck. at least it was lit, but it didn’t ease the sickly feeling in your stomach. you turned back, watching as the guy just entered the parking deck. he wasn’t making it subtle.

“30 minutes, 15 minutes, whatever. if i get pulled i’ll sweet talk the cops out of a ticket,” he informed as he gassed down the street. his hand wrung against the steering wheel, his mind running a million miles an hour. he might even make it in 10 minutes.

“oh well that’s comforting,” you told him as you disappeared up the stairs. you skipped steps, reaching level 4. it was then you heard the door open and close. you bolted through the level 4 door, panting, your heart in your throat.

“joe, please hurry,” you’re begging, your mind coming up with escape routes and hiding places. that car is big enough to hide you. there’s a pillar over there that could keep you. there’s another stairwell on the other end.

“i’m coming baby, just hang tight for me, ok?” he hated hearing you sound so scared, he hated all of it. his anger boiled, his jaw working as he turned onto the highway. why did men think it’s fun to scare women? why did they think it was ok, that it meant they were interested? why did they get off on their fear?

“just stay on the phone with me, please?” you asked him, trying to eye your car. of course you forgot where you parked. you heard the door squeak, and your nerves lit up with adrenaline.

“i promise, babe. i’m here,” he assured you. you swallowed and parked yourself next to a random car, taking out your fob as if to unlock it. you wouldn’t let this man know what you drove.

“he’s on the same level as me,” you breathed shakily, trying and failing to keep your composure. you’ve only read of this sort of thing happening, you never thought it would happen to you. you tried to think logically, which would calm down your nerves only for a little bit.

“i’m almost there,” he told you. he pulled onto the same street as the restaurant, and he wondered why someone would even dare scare you. the area was well-lit, populated. there were people out and about, and yet this guy didn’t seem to care. it just enraged him even more.

you saw the guy round a corner, and you didn’t have anywhere to go. you stiffened, your back rigid as this man approached you. you could see more of his face, and you made sure to sear it into your mind. you could hear your heart beat in your ears, blood rushing through your body. your hands shook, and not because there was a chill in the air.

“can i help you?” you dared speak, trying to sound confident, to sound like you could knock him out if you wanted to.

“you left your wallet,” he replied. on the phone, joe listened, pulling into the parking deck. you were engaging in conversation with this man, and he just hoped that this guy didn’t want to do anything else.

“oh, thanks,” you took the wallet from him, your heart pounding. your eyes flicked to the ramp, watching as joe’s sleek porsche came into view. you almost cried with relief. joe parked in the aisleway, opening and shutting the door. he’d hung up the phone the second he pulled onto the level, preparing for whatever it was he was going to see.

“is there a problem?” joe’s voice is tight, his eyes are hard as he eyes this man down. he walked up to him, a certain strut to his stride. he looked taller, bigger, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

“i was just giving the lady her wallet back, man,” her follower defended.

“then why the hell are you still here?” joe snapped, stepping between you and the guy.

“she seemed afraid, wanted to make sure she was ok,” he replied, sounding smart. joe didn’t like his attitude, but he also knew a slug to the face wasn’t going to fix anything.

“she’s fine, so get out,” he snapped, his voice raising. joe was a good 4 inches taller than this other man, and it made you feel safer. joe squared his shoulders, the tension in his body building as he towered over the other man. you shrunk behind joe, praying for this moment to end. you took careful breaths, trying to control your surging anxiety.

“what the hell is your problem, man?” he snapped, and joe couldn’t hold himself together much longer.

“my problem?” joe hissed, inching towards the other man, “my problem is that you followed her here. my problem is that you’re just now saying something about a wallet,” joe was seething, his fists clenching and unclenching. he wasn’t going to say he scared you, he didn’t want him thinking he won in any way. no one should be proud of scaring someone or wanting to scare someone, unless it was joe in that moment.

“well maybe if she wasn’t running i would have been able to give it to her,” he argued. joe needed to breathe, to take a step back, but this guy was trying to justify his following you. it continued to boil his blood, to churn his stomach.

joe shoved this guy back, hard enough to give you some space, but not enough to knock him down.

“get the fuck out of this parking deck, i don’t want to see you again,” joe’s voice was gravelly as he stared this guy down. he watched as the man stalked off and left the parking deck. joe’s breaths were the only thing heard in the silence. he turned towards you, his expression immediately softening.

“you alright?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in close to his chest. you melted into his embrace, the safety of it. the tears finally fell, the adrenaline that once coursed through your veins slowing its pace. you held onto joe, but you wanted to get out of there.

“i’m ok now that you’re here,” you pulled away. he nodded, wiping your tears from your eyes. the pads of his thumbs felt cool on the heat of your skin, calming down the nerves in your body.

“good, let’s go home,” he hummed, kissing the top of your head. he walked you to your car, helping you in. you felt safe in your car; it allowed to finally breathe and release the tension in your chest. tears flowed down your cheeks you pulled out, following joe all the way home.

—

once you were home, enveloped in the warmth and smell of comfort, you changed into comfortable clothes. you were still shaken up, your body shaking from the adrenaline crash. you walked out of the bathroom, joining joe on the bed. he immediately wrapped you in his arms, giving you a gentle squeeze. he didn’t know what he’d do if he got there too late, if he got there and something despicable had happened. he’d lose his mind, that was for sure.

he just couldn’t get the sound of your voice out of his head. the sound of fear.

“feel better?” he hummed against your hair, pulling himself out of his own head. you nodded against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. his fingers ran up down your spine, spreading warmth throughout your body. you were safe. no one was going to hurt you.

“i’m still shaky, but i’m much better,” you admitted. he could feel your hands, the slight tremor to them as you laid against his chest.

“good,” he replied, running his hands up and down your back, “i’m always a call away,”

“i know,” you said, words muffled against his chest. silence rode by, safety once again seeping back into your bones. he was the one you ran to, the one you’d always call if you needed help. he’d always answer that call, too. your mind drifted with the returning feeling of safety, joe’s actions returning to the forefront of your mind. his tone, his body. you chuckled at the thought, curling further into him.

“what?” he asked, watching as you looked up at him.

“seeing you get all protective has me feeling some type of way,” you laughed, making joe roll his eyes. he kissed the crown of your head, a smile on his lips.

“i think it’s about time little miss got some sleep,” he smiled, reaching over and turning out the light. your laugh broke the darkness, bringing its own kind of light. he was thankful you were feeling ok enough to make suggestive jokes. hearing you laugh was one of the most healing things in his life.

“sweet dreams, my love,” he hummed, feeling you drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

went overboard but i hope this is ok anon! please enjoy!! as always, i’m so thankful for your support and your love! you guys are amazing <3

tags: @wickedfun9

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The real problem with anonymity

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then San Francisco (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

According to "the greater internet fuckwad theory," the ills of the internet can be traced to anonymity:

Normal Person + Anonymity + Audience = Total Fuckwad

https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/greater-internet-fuckwad-theory

This isn't merely wrong, it's dangerously wrong. The idea that forcing people to identify themselves online will improve discourse is demonstrably untrue. Facebook famously adopted its "real names" policy because Mark Zuckerberg claimed to believe that "Having two identities for yourself is an example of a lack of integrity":

https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2010/05/14/facebook-and-radical-transparency-a-rant.html

In service to this claimed belief, Zuckerberg kicked off the "nym wars," turning himself into the sole arbiter of what each person's true name was, with predictably tragicomic consequences:

https://www.kalzumeus.com/2010/06/17/falsehoods-programmers-believe-about-names/

Facebook is, famously, one of the internet's most polluted reservoirs of toxic interpersonal conduct. That's not despite the fact that people have to use their "real" names to participate there, but because of it. After all, the people who are most vulnerable to bullying and harassment are the ones who choose pseudonyms or anonymity so that they can speak freely. Forcing people to use their "real names" means that the most powerful bullies speak with impunity, and their victims are faced with the choice of retreat or being targeted offline.

This can be a matter of life and death. Cambodian dictator Hun Sen uses Facebook's real names policy to force dissidents to unmask themselves, which exposes them to arbitrary detention, torture, and extrajudicial killing. For members of the Cambodian diaspora, the choice is to unmask themselves or expose their family back home to retaliation:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/meghara/facebook-cambodia-democracy

Some of the biggest internet fuckwads I've ever met – and I've met some big ones! – were utterly unashamed about using their real names. Some of the nicest people I know online have never told me their offline names. Greater internet fuckwad theory is just plain wrong.

But that doesn't mean that anonymity is totally harmless. There is a category of person who reliably uses a certain, specific kind of anonymity to do vicious things that inflicts serious harm on whole swathes of people: corporate bullies.

Take Tinyletter. Tinyletter is a beloved newsletter app that was created to help people who just wanted to talk to others, without a thought to going viral or getting rich. It was sold to Mailchimp, which was sold to Intuit, who killed it:

https://www.theverge.com/24085737/tinyletter-mailchimp-shut-down-email-newsletters

Tinyletter was a perfect little gem of a service. It cost almost nothing to run, and made an enormous number of peoples' lives better every day. Shutting it down was an act of corporate depravity by some faceless Intuit manager who woke up one day and said "Fuck all those people. Just fuck them."

No one knows who that person was. That person will never have to look those people in the eyes – those people whose lives were made poorer for that Intuit executive's indifference. That person is the greater fuckwad, and that fuckwaddery depends on their anonymity.

Or take @Pixsy, a corporate shakedown outfit that helps copyleft trolls trick people into making tiny errors in Creative Commons attributions and then intimidates them into handing over thousands of dollars:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

Copyleft trolling is an absolutely depraved practice, a petty grift practiced by greedy fuckwads who are completely indifferent to the harm they cause – even if it means bankrupting volunteer-run nonprofits for a buck:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/02/commafuckers-versus-the-commons/

Pixsy claims that it is proud of its work "defending artists' rights," but when I named the personnel who signed their names to these profoundly unethical legal threats, Pixsy CEO Kain Jones threatened to sue me:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

The expectation of corporate anonymity runs deep and the press is surprisingly complicit. I once spent weeks working on an investigative story about a multinational corporation's practices. I spent hours on the phone with the company's VP of communications, over the course of many calls. When we were done, they said, "Now, of course, you can't name me in the article. All of that has to be attributed to 'a spokesperson.'"

I was baffled. Nothing this person said was a secret. They weren't blowing the whistle. They weren't leaking secrets. They were a corporate official, telling me the official corporate line. But they wouldn't sign their name to it.

I wrote an article about for the Guardian. It was the only Guardian column any of my editors there ever rejected, in more than a decade of writing for them:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/05/14/anodyne-anonymity/

Given the press's deference to this anodyne anonymity, it's no wonder that official spokespeople expect this kind of anonymity. I routinely receive emails from corporate spokespeople disputing my characterization of their employer's conduct, but insisting that I not attribute their dubious – and often blatantly false – statements to them by name.

These are the greater corporate fuckwads, who commit their sins from behind a veil of anonymity. That brand of bloodless viciousness, depravity and fraud absolutely depends on anonymity.

Mark Zuckerberg claimed that "multiple identities" enabled bad behavior – as though it was somehow healthy for people to relate to their bosses, lovers, parents, toddlers and barbers in exactly the same way. Zuckerberg's motivation was utterly transparent: having "multiple identities" doesn't mean you "lack integrity" – it just makes it harder to target you for ads.

But Zuckerberg couldn't enshittify Facebook on his own. For that, he relies on a legion of anonymous Facebook managers. Some of these people undoubtably speak up for Facebook users' interests when their colleagues propose putting them in harm's way for the sake of some arbitrary KPI. But the ones who are making those mean little decisions? They absolutely rely on anonymity to do their dirty work.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/04/greater-corporate-fuckward-theory/#counterintuit-ive

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi!, ive encountered a problem i hope you would aid in? ive been trying to write this domestic breakfast scene where one character is still half-asleep trying to uphold a conversation but i can't. Its the "calm before the storm" kind of scene and i want to give my readers time to breathe and relate to the characters.

Writing Notes: Mundane Scenes

How Mundane Scenes can be Important (by editor Richelle Braswell):

Pacing: Mundane scenes can provide a breather from the action-packed scenes and add variation so that readers don’t get bored or worn down.

World-building: Mundane moments such as how characters get dressed in the morning or prepare their food can add realism and details to your world. It gives a sense of depth to characters lives and shows instead of tells how life operates.

Give weight to events: Mundane activities such as resting or tending to injuries can give weight to previous plot points such as a battle or reveal. We sit with the consequences, and thus the events feel like they have greater importance and space in the narrative.

Synthesize information: Characters can review things like whodunit clues or what they know so far over a meal or while traveling. Meanwhile, the reader can process events up until that point. These scenes are best used during the midpoint of a book or right before the climax.

Build tension: These much slower moments like chatting and weeding the garden can add tension to stories by sitting with the unknown. Readers will sense when things are too quiet and feel a building anticipation.

Develop character arcs: Slow moments such as shopping or washing-up can be important touchpoints to depict gradual character growth. If there is nonstop action, then there isn’t a chance for characters to stop and reflect and give the readers some insight into any changed thought processes and dilemmas.

Develop romance: Mundane moments are some of the best places to give characters space to make the bed together and fold laundry. Their romance and dynamic can be developed here but note that it is most effective when used sparingly and when the reader does not lose a sense of narrative drive.

Decisions as a challenge: Choices have gravity in a narrative when there is space for the main characters to struggle with doing the right thing. It can add further drama if they aren’t making tough decisions while dodging flying arrows or being chased, but while sweeping their floors or organizing their bookshelf. The reader experiences the weight of the choice since it can be carefully considered before it leads to a hero’s triumph or tragedy.

Whatever you do with a mundane scene, the idea to keep in mind is how it contributes to the whole.

some related literary tropes

"Slice of Life" Trope

Life, observed and examined.

A cast of characters go about their daily lives, making observations and being themselves.

There is an emphasis on the very moment, with the intent of focusing the audience on that moment rather than using that moment as part of a narrative.

"Calm before the Storm" Trope

Characterized by a sense of anticipation, perhaps tension, even dread of what is to come.

It allows the characters a moment of respite prior to everything going to hell.

Maybe they make final preparations.

Maybe they go bid farewell.

Maybe they go tie up loose ends or bury hatchets.

They might decide now's the time to finally spend the night with that special someone.

Or maybe they just meditate to still their minds and/or calm their nerves.

Or they may decide to throw a party while they still can.

This scene allows us a quiet moment to just be with the characters, especially if it winds up being the end of the line for some of them.

Great clouds lit from within by lightning gather on the horizon, an army can be seen assembling, or the Final Battle is just around the corner. Everyone knows it is inevitable.

Tomorrow the silence will be broken. Tomorrow there will be chaos. But for now, all is quiet.

"Action Film, Quiet Drama Scene" Trope

An action film trope that you can also incorporate in your writing.

In this kind of scene, there are no expensive visuals or frenetic action, just usually two characters talking about what they believe in, what they care about, their deepest pains, or anything that relates to the stakes of the situation.

This is not the same as the purely exposition scene in that there is something deeper displayed here.

In these scenes, you can understand the plot, grasp its theme, or develop a rapport with the characters to make the big scenes matter to your readers.

When it really works, it can make the action sequences all the more compelling, because the quiet scenes have allowed you to emotionally invest in the characters and care about their fate.

Examples

In The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2, after a long time fleeing through the giant death trap of the Capitol and suffering several losses, Cressida leads the squad to a friend's house. Their time in the basement covers a lot of ground, from mourning their losses to Katniss' guilt to the Love Triangle.

Inception: In the climax, we finally see whether or not Fischer reconciles with the memory of his father.

The Lord of the Rings: The scene between Aragorn and Arwen on the bridge in The Fellowship of the Ring. It introduces depth to Aragorn's character and reveals his backstory; the scenes of the Shire at peace in The Fellowship of the Ring (especially in the Directors Cut), filled with laughter, friendship and happy children (what a warrior lays down his life to protect) is what makes us actually care whether or not Frodo and the Fellowship defeat Sauron or not.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some information and related tropes to keep in mind as you write your scene. Use the tropes as inspiration, and alter as needed/desired to better fit your story. Reading how other authors have done this as well, especially in your favourite stories, is one way to know how you would execute it in your own story. You can find more details and examples in the links above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[sky-scribbles]

You know what Veilguard does sincerely very well? Theme.

Veilguard has such a consistent theme: regret, and the related concepts of self-blame and self-forgiveness. It asks: how does someone live knowing that the blood on their hands cannot be undone? Can that ever be set right? And it delivers the fascinating message that refusal to forgive oneself can be selfish.

Solas is the biggest vessel for this. Solas is, of course, so mired in regret that he has a whole subplot dedicated to learning and unpacking all his regrets. He is so trapped in them that he cannot escape in a year a regret-sealed prison that Rook leaves in three weeks. (Disclaimer: this post is not anti-Solas; I really enjoy him, but I enjoy him because he has done some terrible things and is dealing with it in the worst possible way.)

 Some of his regrets, he justifies, desperately trying to wring the blood off his hands – insisting to Neve in the endgame that killing Varric was ‘an accident’, telling Felassan that it’s not really bad that he manipulated the Disruption spirits into dying for him, because ‘they died doing what they loved and look, it was worth it!’

And at the same time, he copes by trying to find a Fix It button. Waking up to a world where the elves have lost everything, instead of committing to the long, difficult work of trying to help them reclaim their culture, language and history… he instead seizes upon the quick fix of destroying the Veil. ‘I caused all this,’ he says to himself, ‘and rather than living with the consequences, and helping others live with them, I will undo the Bad Thing.’ The elves potentially get their magic and immortality back. He’ll have done One Big Thing to address what he did, and now he’s done (because he cannot bear to face how endless and painful the work to really help the elves would be.)

He is also neck deep in sunk cost fallacy. He has to keep going, he has to tear down the Veil, because if he doesn’t, he makes everything pointless. It was pointless that he killed Mythal and Felassan; it was pointless to give his orb to Corypheus; it was pointless to deceive the Inquisitor and betray his friend/lover. If he commits to living in a world with the Veil intact, then he was wrong to kill Felassan and he cannot take it back.

Solas cannot wrap his head around the concept that it was pointless anyway. It was all done in the name of erasing his guilt, making it easier to live with (oh, he tells himself it was for the elves, but if he really wanted to help them, he’d be out there learning about who they are now.) He cannot make the awful things he’s done less awful by doing more awful things.

Solas is stuck in a conviction that he needs to do some big, huge thing to atone. And then… then Rook comes along.

Rook, right from the beginning, is given things to regret. Right out of the gate, they are blaming themselves for the Evanuris’s escape, and others are blaming them too. Solas, who only knows the language of blame, is accusing them from the start. Rook, on some level, knows that Varric is dead, but Solas’s manipulation works so well because Rook can’t face the reality that they might have failed Varric. Let him go to his death. Didn’t stop him and didn’t save him.

And then they’re forced to choose between Minrathous and Treviso, and the consequences of that never leave them. You are forced to confront what you did every time you visit either city. Fail to save Treviso, and you see it devoured by Blight; you see Jacobus, who was young and scared and angry, Blighted. You have to kill him, a child, because of a choice you made. Fail to save Minrathous, and the Venatori seize power, posting corrupt Templars at every street corner. You see Ashur, a good and selfless man, Blighted, and have to face Tarquin’s devastated accusations that you should have been there. The Shadow Dragons are half destroyed.

And Neve and Lucanis – one of them is damaged forever. Each of them automatically selects the ‘darker’ option at the end of their character paths; an entire potential life path is closed down to them. Neve struggles to trust Rook again. Lucanis becomes convinced he has to do everything himself. You did the thing that hurt them.

Meanwhile, your companions are all struggling with regrets of their own. Bellara blames herself for Cyrian’s death, even when she is so clearly not at fault. She craves his forgiveness, and is unable to forgive herself. Neve still blames herself for Brom’s death and Aelia’s last escape from her. Lucanis and Davrin leave Weisshaupt drowning in self-blame and self-hatred – how could I have missed? How dare I survive, when so many of my comrades have fallen? How do I live with knowing that innocents might die because I didn’t do better?

Taash? They watch their mother die, and – just like Solas, who as Taash points out, never got to talk things over with Mythal before she died – never gets closure. They can never ‘yell it out’ with Shathann; their mother never got a chance to know them as their real self. Emmrich? Still clearly blames himself on some level for what Johanna has become – ‘I would have helped you!’ he tells her. He has to either let go of Manfred or lichdom, and make his peace with the decision.  

Harding is an interesting one, because while she doesn’t have any huge regret herself, she serves to illustrate the selfishness of Solas’s attitude. Solas is fixated on assuaging his own guilt – undo the bad thing he did, make it all worth it – and he has never given a thought to trying to do anything for the dwarves, whose ancestors he mutilated. He has never done anything to honour the Titans.

Self-blame in general can feel so… vindicating. ‘I feel bad about the bad thing I did, so you see, I am not callous, I am suffering for my sins!’ And Harding really proves how much of a lie this is. Solas suffering emotionally as a consequence does not do anything to help the dwarves, who have lost the connection of isatunoll that their ancestors had. It doesn’t do anything to help Harding connect with her history and heritage.

And all of this leads us to Tearstone Island, where Rook is faced with sending either Neve or Bellara into a position that gets them captured. They choose either Harding or Davrin for a responsibility that gets them killed. And right them, when they are most vulnerable, Solas shows them Varric’s corpse. Reveals that all along, by nudging them into making these decisions, taking on the leadership of their team and the responsibility for their team’s pain, he has been shaping them into a reflection of himself. He switches their places. And Rook, devastated, buckling under the weight of regret, is pulled into the Fade.

But then. Rook refuses to fall into unproductive self-blame. They acknowledge ‘yes, I made these decisions, but I will honour those I lost, and live as they would have wanted.’ They acknowledge the agency of their loved ones, understanding that everyone who was hurt – Bellara or Neve, Harding or Davrin, Varric – made their own free-willed decisions. And then they allow others to help them, as their friends reach out to them to pull them home.

Solas was fixed on the idea that Only He knew how to fix everything and Only He could make it right. He could never have let anyone reach down to help him, because he still held himself above them.

Solas’s attempts to atone were ultimately self-interested. He wanted to vindicate himself, and to free himself from self-blame. By fixating on his idea of atonement, he was unable to look at any productive way to move forward.

But Rook is able to understand that what they need is not to atone. It is to forgive themself.

And the final quest’s outcome depends on the question: does Rook choose to help Solas understand that too? Does Solas listen to the person who most understands the only way Solas could possibly move forward?

(I do think Elgarn’nan and Ghilan’nain could have benefited from having been brought into the theme of regret more – not that I think they should have got redemption or anything, but at the very least, held up as more of a ‘look what happens when people refuse to regret at all’. Anyway I’m getting sidetracked.)

 I’ve seen a lot of criticism of Veilguard failing to tie Rook into the plot. And on one hand, I get where this is coming from – they don’t have as much of a practical tie into the story as, say, Hawke being involved in the mage rebellion through their family, or the Inquisitor being forced into their role by the Mark. But… I have to say, I disagree with the idea that Rook has no tie to the plot. Rook’s tie to the plot is thematic. Could there have been more – more decisions like Minrathous/Treviso, for instance, that mirror Solas’s choices? Probably, and I would have appreciated that a lot.

But I’ve got to say it: I prefer this thematic tether to the plot far, far more than the ‘chosen one’ aspect of the Inquisitor being tethered to the story by having happened to pick up a glowing orb. I actually think Rook is much more tied, in a thematic and narrative sense, to the events going on around them than the Inquisitor ever was.

TL;dr: I do think the theme of regret could have been enforced more often and been given some more personal relevance to Rook. But I love what we have. I genuinely appreciate that the devs had a theme, carried it through, and tied almost all the major characters into it. Imo, this aspect is just straight-up very good writing.

—

(This is part of my Things I Liked About Veilguard series.)

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

I'm thinking again about how Bells Hells repeatedly insisted they had "no choice" but to release Predathos in the finale, when they very much did have a choice even as they felt it was the best of a series of bad options. They might not have liked the choice, but they did choose to go into the Hallowed Cage instead of doing something else. And the thing is, this refusal of their own agency is something they've done the whole time. One of their most aggravating traits as an adventuring party has been repeatedly asking everyone they come across (gods, world leaders, Predathos itself) what they want as a way to avoid choosing what to do for themselves, to the point that the Raven Queen eventually calls them out on it.

And the fact that the larger political and theological implications of the finale were carried out largely without Bells Hells only further highlights their lack of acknowledged agency. It was in conversations between Vax and Morrighan and Deanna with their respective deities that the implications of the gods becoming mortal where dealt with and the question of whether saving them was worth it was answered (yes they were worth saving, because everyone is). The logistics of what to do with the Ruidians who want to live on Exandria and the establishment of diplomatic relations with the moon were settled by Vox Machina and the Mighty Nein, with Bells Hells taking pretty much no part. Bells Hells lack of involvement in either of these series of conversations makes it feel like these events occurred outside of them despite being spurred entirely by their actions and choices.

But what really makes this stick out to me, is that I've written about characters who actively defer their own agency to external forces before in regards to Moc Weepe and Jonas Spahr of Midst. But where I think both of their arcs work and Bells Hells falls flat is the narrative of Midst acknowledges their deferral of agency and directly grapples with it. Learning to acknowledge that he is making choices and those choice have consequences that he needs to take responsibility for is a key component of Spahr's character arc, which climaxes with him finally making a decisive choice for himself. Weepe in contrast continues to deny his own agency even in the face of the woman he loves begging him to take some accountability (on her deathbed no less!) and this ultimately leads him to his ruin. Whereas with Bells Hells everything worked out just fine in the end despite all their waffling and refusal of responsibility without any consequences that would make them take a good long look at what they did, or bite them for choices they refuse to acknowledge that they made.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: You were an almost lover, now a hushed whisper in the dark when his Ex moves back to town. Nothing is worse than a love than a love triangle you weren't expecting--old flames, new love, and lingering feelings, but who's the real winner when everyone gets hurt?

Warnings: 18+All Angst, Mentions: Cheating/Sex. Sexual Situations.

Word Count: 5.4k

POV: Ex-Girlfriend

Some people need a villain in their story.

I guess that’s me.

I cheated. 

Yes, I know it’s one of the worst things you can do. 

Call it a mistake; call it a momentary lapse in judgment. I could give you every excuse in the book, but it wouldn’t make it right. I know I hurt him. Harry didn’t deserve it, but would it make a difference if I told you I regretted it, that I wish I could take it back? 

Four years. 

I dated Harry for four years.

I always thought he could save me, be the one to save me from myself, but I was wrong. It was going to happen, whether it was then or somewhere down the line. I knew all my tiny deceptions were blooming like a storm on the horizon, that it was just a matter of time before the downpour —tell me this. Have you ever been so happy that it hurt, so in love that you suffocated with it, a ball and chain at your ankle, a love so deep that you would destroy yourself for it? 

And maybe I did, but it wasn’t for the sake of love.

It was for me. 

I chose myself.

If I had stayed, it all would have been a lie. 

 I know that I went about it the wrong way, but at that point in our relationship, it didn’t seem like I had any other choice. Love was the rope cutting into my neck that left me hanging motionless, suspended in time, in a place, in a person, my whole identity unchanging because there was nothing else that existed outside of me and Harry. There could be no Leah without Harry or Harry without Leah. 

Pitiful, I know. 

I could tell you my sob story, but would you believe me? Would you keep an open mind and try to understand? I’m not a victim, but maybe everyone is a victim of their own demise. I chose mine, and now I have to live with the consequences. They say there are two sides to every story, and now there will be three.

I DM’ed him. Harry had blocked me on everything else, so it was my last resort. It was selfish, I know, but obviously, we’ve already established that… hence the cheating. 

It was strange to see him happy. I had heard the stories that he had moved on. I guess I wasn’t expecting to see it in person, be that close, witness the way they meshed—it was his hand in hers, an arm around the waist, a whisper in her ear—I felt the balance, their smooth give and take, nothing like us. There was something devastating about the connection. The disparity was in the history lost, the friend, the lover, now a stranger because he was different. That part was clear, and it was me looking for proof of their authenticity. I needed to know if it was real.

And when he leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head, so intimate, so tender, the both of them in their own world—jealousy grabbed me by the hand, and all in that moment, I never felt so alive and so dead.

In that instance, jealousy became me.

But jealousy would also destroy me because there’s a reason they say not to go looking for things you shouldn’t be looking for.

I was a passing glance. His familiar eyes, like looking in the mirror, flitted past me, not even a second glance—and I get it, I really did get it, I deserved it, this was all my fault, but that doesn’t change the fact that it hurt, that I was beside myself all night, that I pretended to yield some kind of power over him when I didn’t. She must have sensed it, felt the tether I was trying to pull. One look was all I was asking for, but would it have changed anything? But then she looked at me, and that in itself was devastating. I saw the fear as soon as we locked eyes, and it gave me the delusional courage I needed.

I didn’t want to make a scene.

I just wanted him to acknowledge me, the slightest bit of recognition, that yes, there’s the person I spent four years of my life with, entangled in the same sheets the new girl was probably sleeping on—a single degree of separation between us both.

And this is where maybe I was the villain.

I wanted to test the waters. I wanted to see how much our history meant to him, to see if I still had any pull. At the time, I thought it would make me feel better or give me the boost I needed. Yank me from the depth in which I had let myself fall because, if I’m being honest, cheating on Harry was the worst mistake I had ever made, and looking back, it was one of those moments when you think the grass is greener.

It wasn’t, and I’ve learned that it never will be unless you learn to water your own.

Even if I wasn’t expecting him to speak, when he left with her that night, all I could think about was her in his bed, and the second he walked out of that door, it was like losing him all over again. That tether being snapped, a finality that I never understood until that moment. Every action that got me to that point started carving out that hollow that I created, digging into me until it emptied me out—every piece, all the temporary fixes that I tried to fill myself with, swallowed me whole and spit me out as if I was nothing. 

That ache for him was bone-deep, but I did it to myself.

It was easier when there was distance. I could distract myself, chase those temporary highs as if they would last forever, and the more someone was in my bed, the more I stopped thinking of Harry, but did he ever think of me? Would he think of me that night when he laid her down? The thought made me a monster, and I wanted him to think of me. I wanted him to fuck her and see my message and feel something, anything, it didn’t matter, but at least I would be an impression on his mind again.

What had he told her about me? Did he tell her I was crazy? All those times he held me, kissed me, told me I was his only one flooded in, haunting me, and now the ghost of what we were would torment my every thought for weeks to come, and all I could think about was the last time we had sex. I never thought it would be our last, thought that we would ever break up. 

L: Hey, I know it’s been a while, but do you think you would ever be down to talk? I don’t know like clear the air or something?

That was all I said, and as soon as I sent it, I knew it was wrong, but here’s the thing: This was my problem. This was the reason for most of our fights. As soon as Harry and I went off to college, something changed. It was like we were thrust into this new world that we had to reestablish our relationship. What once felt solid felt weak in my grasp. 

There were so many girls pining for him. It turned into me claiming him like he was some sort of possession, which made me feel crazy because he never, not once, gave me a reason to fret over anything he was doing, but I couldn’t stop. It was like once it started, it became a slow-burning obsession. I liked the attention; I liked being the girl with the cute guy that everyone wanted, and it wasn’t just the attention from the girls; it was from the guys, too. 

And this was our downfall. 

The storm beginning to brew.

The more possessive I got, the more desperate I became, and the more Harry and I fought—not just little fights, but big blowouts, yelling at the top of our lungs, volatile. The more he said, “I love you,” the more I pulled away because I knew he loved me. I really did, but there was always going to be something or someone who brought out the insecurities I was fighting tooth and nail to hide. 

Push and pull, push and pull—If he told me I was beautiful, I didn’t believe him, and then I would drink, and it would be a good time, and the second we got home, I would pick a fight, and I would end up crying over the bathroom toilet—me crawling to him on our bedroom floor, Harry screaming he had enough—It was always me picking a fight. By the end, I just wanted to get a reaction; I wanted him to make me feel something, call it sick, a deceptive, manipulative mix of contradictions. I wanted him to fight, I wanted him to fight for us, and dammit, he was so good, and I took him for granted. 

How many times was my mouth empty with the words I wanted to say? How do you tell someone you love, who loves you, who’s on their knees begging for you to stay, that you’re bored, that with every touch you felt nothing, that their devotion was killing any desire you had left? That every time they gave you that look, the desperation swelling in their eyes, that bribing stare that made you doubt yourself with every fucking plea, that you had enough, that you were at your breaking point, and in that moment, you know that you’re hurting them, that you’re dead were your standing, but it doesn’t change the way you feel.

Because nothing was enough. 

More. 

I wanted more.

And then, when that wasn’t enough, I fucked his friend. I wanted something new, to taste the kiss of someone else. Feel their passion, their want. It was always something more, and now, when I look back, I don’t even know what I wanted—I wanted more, but more of what? To feel wanted, to feel attractive, to feel like I was just as desirable as him, I wanted to be seen the way that they saw him, and what is that? Jealousy? 

I wanted to take and not have to give.

Desire led to deception.

The deception was me moving through all the empty spaces in my life. The guilt was knowing and choosing to plot and scheme ways to toe the line before I even acted on anything. It was all in my head; that was the danger. The silence, the dissociation feeding the conceptions until I was playing them out. 

I started going to more parties with my friends, choosing the night that I knew Harry was busy. More guys started noticing me, then, when I wasn’t glued to his side. At first, I thought the attention was enough; it was harmless. Most of them knew I was the girl they couldn’t have, the girl that was off limits. So, a couple of flirty comments, here and there, was nothing��until Jake came along.

Jake fucked me in his mom’s minivan because his car was in the shop, and the second he pushed inside me, I felt disgusted. I felt my desperation like greed seeping from the tips of my fingers, willing to accept anything—my standards out the window like the condom he tossed when we were done—yet it was the most alive I had ever felt. The sex wasn’t even good; it was the idea that I could be my own person that turned me on the most, and yes, I realize now there are healthier ways to go about it, but at the time, it didn’t feel like there was any other way out unless I destroyed it all. 

Our relationship was a reminder of the safety I chose, knowing that Harry would always be there, and my fickle heart was a reminder that he deserved better.

 The day I willed our love to die was the day my heart turned wicked.

I just wanted to be free.

H: I didn’t know how to respond to that message. Honestly, it kind of felt weird. I wasn’t expecting to talk or anything. 

L: Can I call you?

H: I don’t know…I’m kind of seeing someone.

L: Kind of?

H: Yeah, for like a little while now.

L: Gotcha. I’ll be back in December for my sister’s wedding. Maybe I’ll try again then.

H: Wow! So Ash is getting married??? I bet her and Jackson’s wedding is going to be badass.

L: Haha, yeah, my parents are going all out. 

H: Cool, well tell her congrats for me.

L: Will do!

Now fast forward to the wedding. 

I didn’t think he would come. When we talked on the phone, it was the first real conversation we had since it ended. I told him everything. My hurtful truths fell out as long pockets of silence weighed heavy on the line, and when I heard him cry, I cried too, begging for a second chance, and there I was, pushing the words from my tight chest like that plea was my only chance at forgiveness because I wanted it so fucking bad, I wanted him. I wanted him back, and I was willing to do anything to hold on to the idea of what we were.

And that is what it was,

 An idea.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of what we were, in the temporary comfort that it brought just knowing that he was willing. I thought that if he went to the wedding, it would fix everything. He would see my sister and Jackson, who were so happy, a couple we both admired, and it would bring us back. We could still play out that future, that maybe he could still see himself fulfilling that daydream we always talked about. 

A plan, an intention. That’s all it ever was, and plans change.

All night, we found ourselves circling around a mask of niceties fit for strangers, trying to slip back into a role that no longer belonged to us. He had changed, and so had I, and that devastation that I had felt before was back tenfolds. I had him there, but I could tell he was somewhere else, and every time he checked his phone, I found myself right back in that place, that same toxic pattern of thinking, and if I thought I was insecure before, well fucking rake me over the coals because my whole body was on fire with it. 

A storm of jealousy.

Fuck jealousy.

It’s been done to death, but fucking tell me how to stop.

Why does desperation have to go hand in hand—a vicious act, a vicious cycle, and then I’m lost in it?

Desperation took way as I pulled him into my childhood room that night. I thought this was something that we knew; this was something that could bridge the gap—the distance between our past and present. 

All night, I could see it in his eyes, a caution threatening the surface, the safety in his precise words when someone put him on the spot, his body guarded anytime I got too close. It wasn’t until the drinks started flowing that he finally loosened up, but even then, there was a flicker, a ripple of reality that would sweep over his face, and then he would reel himself back in, and I watched him wage war, an inner turmoil, that mask now an art of self-preservation. 

What was right and wrong in this situation?

When his phone died, I could see the guilt weighing on his features, his furrowed brows, the way his gaze lingered on the black screen. All evening, I found myself pleading that internal plea for him to grasp the tether that I was so obviously pushing when, in all reality, he was already tethered to her. She was the one on his mind; she was the one who was going to get him, and still, I couldn’t let him go.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, silence hummed out the emptiness, the lack of words that would make this any easier, and that hollow deepened as I watched Harry’s eyes roam the room. The room he had seen so many times was as familiar as his own. Still, his eyes scanned every surface as if it were new, staring at the plains with new eyes, and then I felt myself doing the same, watching him through a new lens, and the feeling was scary, an awkward indifference neither one of us knew how to navigate. 

My body seized at the thought, and when his eyes met mine, I felt that sinking feeling all over again, a stranger gazing back at me, yet my soul knew him, wanted him, wanted to please him, wanted to do anything to keep him, and when he got close enough for me to pull him closer, I looked up at him, hoping that he would see it in my eyes, that unspoken desire, that there was a time that we didn’t need words to play out an act we knew like the back of our hands. 

I wanted the comfort of someone knowing my body, not having to guess, to know the things I liked. How many times had we made love? We were once the same, but maybe that was another idea because he would have never left. 

I wanted to undo it all. 

And when he didn’t move, I reached for the waist of his slacks; his lack of enthusiasm was a sharp sting of rejection, my throat already tight with it. How could I make him want it, make him want me, and then I was down on my knees, pulling at the top of his boxers, his dick at half mass, spilling out before me, and when I looked up, he was closing his eyes, head shifted toward the ceiling, he couldn’t even look at me, get hard for me like I knew he could.

It was a straight blow to my ego, but I couldn’t let her win.

How many hours, days, how many months, and years had I put in? 

My pride wouldn’t let me suffer, so I turned up the act, and I shoved his dick into my mouth like a sweet treat, feeling it grow and lengthen, working him in and out, a hand stroking, a gag there, choking on his dick until finally he breathed out a sigh of satisfaction and I had him, pulling out all the old tips and tricks. When I finally rose to my feet, I started unbuttoning his shirt, kicking off my shoes, and once I reached his last button, I let him take over, reaching for the back of my dress to unzip it. 

His movements were still guarded, but he was moving, and that was a good sign that maybe he wanted it, too. 

Then I opened my stupid mouth.

“I want you to fuck me—” I said, and maybe it was the wrong thing to say because he looked at me then, really looked at me, and as his eyes flitted down my body, I saw him pulling away. My words taking him out of the moment. 

Desperate. Need I remind you because then I was pulling him onto the bed, our naked bodies colliding, foreign and familiar, as his hands began to touch me, roaming over places that once were his, my mind and body in overdrive, “ I want you so bad—” I breathed into his neck as his mouth found mine, and it was happening just like I wanted, Harry’s lips moving against mine.

“Baby—” I moaned when he slipped the bud of my nipple into his mouth, “Just like that…” I told him, spurring him on, and he groaned, the vibration humming over my skin, and I clenched my thighs, the memory of his dick filling me, pulling between my legs. 

“Harry…” I began to plead, trying to meet his eyes, but it was only a quick glance as Harry continued to my other breast. 

His silence made me nervous, his lack of words making me double down on the words that were slipping out of my mouth. I could tell he was in his head. I had known him long enough to know he wasn’t fully present, and I bit back the rejection by overcompensating, my hands raking through his hair, my words out in high praise.

If I built him up, would it make me smaller? If he felt bigger, would he want me more? Would it dull the ache of our past? Soothe the sore spots in our minds because every touch felt like a reminder of what we used to be. 

Would it remind him that he was once the center of my universe?

The more I said, the more he slipped further and further from my reach, and when I said, “I need you inside me,” he halted his movements, his eyes meeting mine, a pause like I was coming into focus, his brows pinching almost like he was confused, staring back at me as if my words perplexed him.

And I knew it. I knew at that moment where his mind went or was, but it wasn’t with me and what we were doing—she was here—she was the implicit air filling the room, her presence at the tip of his tongue. I could see it, feel it in the way his body stilled over mine, his body stiff as he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, my denial a figment of my imagination, thinking he would dare breathe her into existence, not here, not now, not when I’m lying here naked, not when his hard dick was just pressed against my thigh implying something different, was I even the one turning him on? Or were we back at the idea again?

“Do you have a condom?” He asked.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then, “A condom?”

“Yeah…”

Harry drags a hand down his face, a silent exhale leaving his chest, “I’m on birth control…it’s cool…” I tell him, not thinking anything of it because we’ve been here so many times. 

Denial. Denial. Denial.

“It’s just that—” Harry shakes his head, his whole body tensing, frustration at the surface. I know what he’s about to say, but it’s like I need to hear him say it, feel the weight of it, let it crush me, feel the pain of his loss all over again because it will never be enough.

“What?” I breathe, “Just say it.”

And when he looks at me, remorse is stealing his features, “I’ve only slept with the same person for the last…I don’t know, like a year, maybe.” Then he puffs out his cheeks, pushing a shaky breath past his lips.

“Like exclusive,” he adds, “I just don’t want to like…I don’t know—”

“Is she cool with you fucking other people?” I interject, fighting back my disappointment, his rejection hitting me right where it hurts, and I deserve it, but I’m stubborn, and here is that pattern, the push and pull, because now I want to make him hurt like he’s hurting me, and it’s all so fucking confusing.

“We’ve never talked about it, but I can’t imagine she would be thrilled with the idea of me fucking my ex,” he answers; the word Ex another blow, and now they’re piling, burying me alive. 

“Okay…” I say, pushing myself up, and I drag a pillow over my chest. For the first time, the thought of my naked body being on display for him is turning the pit of my stomach, a sick twist of regret rising up. “If you’re so concerned with how she feels, why are you in my bed?”

“I don’t know…” He tells me, shrugging his shoulders as he pulls himself toward the edge of the bed, “This feels really weird—”

“Harry, you’re making it weird—”

“I’m not making it weird, Leah. You’re making it weird by acting like this isn’t strange, like you can’t feel it.” He pushes.

“It’s just sex. We’ve done it so many times. What’s weird about that?”

Harry lets out a faint laugh and rises from the bed, reaching for his boxers, “Yeah…I definitely can’t do this.”

“Now you’re just being cruel, Harry.”

“Cruel, Leah? Are you joking right now? Do we really want to talk about who’s cruel?” He tosses right back with no hesitation, anger taking over. 

“Just say it, Harry! Say what you want to say—” I force. 

“This—!” He yells, his voice breaking as his arms fan out, “This is fucking cruel… you bringing me here.”

And the pain is sharp, his eyes filling with tears, his face flush, “You call me cruel, but want me to stick my dick inside you when I know nothing about you anymore—” 

“Me?” I shout back, pissed that he would even go there. Especially since I heard the stories, “And you’re some fucking saint? Like you didn’t fuck every girl you could as soon as I left, fuck you, dude!”

“Oh my god! Do you fucking hear yourself?” He belts, grabbing at his hair, my words crawling under his skin just like I intended because how dare he call me out. 

“Leah, you literally fucked my friend in the back of his mom’s minivan…that’s fucking desperate—”

“You know what fuck you—” I tell him. 

“No—because we’re back here now. You brought us back here. You don’t get to shut me down.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you shame me, Harry—”

“Shame you? I only fuck those other girls once you left…god—I don’t get you. I was on my fucking knees for you. I never even thought of another girl. I didn’t want anyone else—and obviously, I wasn’t enough. What do you even want from me, Leah? 

I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know—”

“Well, what the fuck did you want tonight because I feel like you’re sucking me into one of your mind games, and now that I’ve been away. I can see it…crystal fucking clear.” He says, and he stares back at me, waiting for an answer, but I’m suddenly at a loss for words because he’s right. 

“I think I’m going to go.” He breathes, bending down to gather his clothes. 

“I fucking miss you—okay… that’s what it is. That’s what this is. I just wanted to be close to you again. I thought this was the only way.” 

And this stops him, his eyes flicking to me, “We could have just talked—” Harry says. 

“Can we talk now? Can we please not leave it on this note?” I plead, trying one last time because I have a feeling that once he leaves out that door, I won’t get another chance.

“I promise I won’t yell. I’ll listen. We can start over. That was the worst of it…” 

Harry drops his shoulders, the tension slowly ebbing as he exhales a weighted breath, “No more yelling?” He asks. 

“No more yelling…I promise.” I answer.

Then I was back.

And it’s stepping out of a time capsule, stepping into that dire state all over again. All it took was seeing her one time at a party for me to switch to fight or flight, and I don’t know why I did it, but my first reaction was to drag Harry’s arm around my waist. It was embarrassing, childish even. The warmth rushing to my face told me it was wrong, and then he pulled it away, and dammit, it hurt, crept down my spine like an act of betrayal, like he owed me anything; I was just lucky to be there.

Then I was falling down into that self-induced hollow of my own making, crying on the bedroom floor; not even sure how I got there, but there were tears, the room dense with silence, and when I turned my head to search for Harry, he was facing away from me, seated at the end of the bed, slumped, a scene of defeat unfolding as I piece together my reality. 

Another fight.

Another fucking fight.

And we’re here again, and I don’t think there’s any going back to what we were because it’s always going to be there, hidden away or at the forefront of our minds, the damage now a chasm consuming us both, and if this is goodbye I want an ending fit for the times that were good, pretend that there isn’t an end, because this needs to end. 

This has to end. 

 It’s like deja vu, and I’m crawling on my hands and knees, kneeling before him, both hands on the tops of his thighs, looking up at him, pleading my final plea, hoping he sees it in the tear spilling, and it’s brutal, the despair etched into every line on his face, the sorrow in knowing that I broke this person, that I’m breaking this person, and I can’t seem to stop—I’m the villain, call me the villain, but I love this man.

But is it love if all you want to do is win? 

The look in his eyes says enough. He doesn’t even have to say it, and even though I’m sinking into a sea of doubts, I’m standing to my feet, climbing into his lap as if I belong there, his arms wrapping around me, giving me the false security that I’m silently praying for—and we can pretend. 

We can pretend this one last time because if we don’t have tomorrow, can we just have this one last time, and then I’m asking:

“Harry, just one last time,” The words rising, holding every truth I have left because this will be the last time, and I let him go, an ask I don’t deserve, but he complies, and he’s lifting us both, my legs wrapped tight around his body, the excitement a double-edged sword that will gut us both but it’s playing out, and this is all we have left. 

Pain and pleasure.

Then he’s laying me down. 

Here’s the consequence of all my wants, the final goodbye, bittersweet when he pushes into me, that storm moving in, stealing the color from our world. Tired was all I could think, exhaustion in every movement as a subtle desperation rolled in. The storm was no longer on the horizon—it hung above us, a shift, the room growing dark, the static charging the air, crawling over our skin—His eyes were trained on my face, and I felt the words swirling in my mouth, the clouds ready to come down on us both, and as I laid there, the pleasure took over. All the while, the heartbreak of it all threatened to destroy me, engulf me in the truth that he was no longer in love, that this perfectly good-hearted, devoted person who loved me didn’t want me anymore. That I was no longer part of his future.

Now forever will be the noose that’s still cutting into my throat, a distant memory of what love was and could have been, a growing pain, a lesson learned. A regret that will shape my future and a shame I’ll have to live with, but this is my truth, and I am the person I have to live with, the person I have to face every day. 

Love is real, but there should never be a time you have to destroy yourself for the sake of existing or destroy those you love for the chance to grow. You’re only a villain in someone else’s story if they allow it, and there may be times when you’re the villain in your own story, and that is a consequence you’ll have to accept, an accountability you’ll have to hold, a punishing reality of your own demises.

And my punishing reality was that I was free the entire time. 

With or without him, I was always free. 

Taglist: Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged for this series. @sassamanda77 @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @angeldavis777 @matildasatellite @cendrineee @prettygurl-2009 @harry2121 @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19

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[yanmuffins]

I've been thinking and I've come to the conclusion that it wouldn't make much sense for Bruce to neglect one of his children.

Think about it, in canon, most of the mistakes he made that ended up harming his family were either because he was completely buried in work, or because he was slightly manipulated, both by the narrative and by third parties.

In addition, he also cannot fully communicate with others, both because of his early trauma, the loss of his parents, and all the loneliness caused by the grief he went through growing up. Not to mention the years of self-discipline and training he went through to become Batman. From everything he's seen and experienced, and all the scars he has, I can't imagine how much that grief and and especially a sense of justice, survived.

so I don't think he would simply neglect one of his children

What I propose is; accidental negligence. Think about it, if he is busy all the time with both Batman and his other persona, Brucie Wayne, and then the justice league, investigations, meetings of Wayne Enterprise, galas, charities, other rich people, the usual rogues gallery of Gotham, etc, etc, I don't think he has much time to spend with anyone.

He is able to spend more time with his other children because they are all vigilantes, like him, and are usually just as busy as he is. Having a civilian child in the middle of this mess wouldn't do much good, especially if that child doesn't know what they do most of the time, like, y'know, vigilantlism.

Imagine everyone's absolute horror when they realize, after the p&f reader is unfortunately busted, that they paid so little attention to that child that she managed to do all these crazy things right under their noses for the whole summer. And who's to say she hadn't been doing this before this summer? How many things have they inevitably missed in her life?

What I mean is that to counter the p&f reader's luck, everyone in the batfam is unlucky enough not to be able to spend time with her. And they are aware of it.

Their guilt would be immense and the angst would be delicious.

(And it would explain how Damian hás time to spend with p&f reader, since he's a kid and his only obligations are school, socialization and being Robin, so he would technically have more time??? If that even makes sense???)

context &. context.

YOU!! YOU GET IT!!

i wholeheartedly agree!

not that "accidental" neglect is any better, it's neglect all the same and has negative consequences in so many levels. but when we're talking about Bruce Emotionally Constipated And Terrible At Communication and Could Sometimes Make Better Choices Regarding His Kids Wayne, it could absolutely happen.

i'm not one to make character analysis because i have very shallow knowledge of Batman lore, but...

like you said, all of Bruce's children participate in vigilantism. they're all extraordinary, most have horrible trauma, and have relied on him for guidance. they are all Robin, and more relatable to him, in a way. that means he's consequently more involved in their lives, more physically there engaging with them, forming an emotional bond, acting as a mentor and father figure. on top of that, like you said, he has a whole life as Bruce Wayne and Batman going on.

which brings us to neglected! Reader, more specifically mine: P&F! Reader and Vampire! Reader.

on a... financial, material level, I believe they wouldn't want for anything. Alfred is the one managing their bank account and making sure they're well-provided for and though it's fun for angst purposes, i don't think they would have a tiny little bedroom isolated from everyone in the manor, mostly because it's our favorite butler who would select which bedroom Bruce's child would be staying at in this gigantic mansion with plenty unocuppied rooms. Alfred would NOT put you in the broom closet. it would be a bedroom that's at least as big as Damian's in Son of Batman, for example.

(i more than understand suspension of disbelief and playing around with all sorts of interesting concepts and characters, so I'm not criticizing anyone!)

in fact, i think it's kinda worse that, say, you have a bedroom that's a wall across from Tim's and he still kinda forgets you exist.

also, i believe Bruce's kid would absolutely have access to a more than generous amount of money. not broke at all.

so the only type of neglect going on here is of the emotional kind. your father and your siblings have created tight-knit bonds amongst themselves based on their shared experiences and the proximity brought by them all working as vigilantes, and you're just not a part of the club.

timing is also relevant.

P&F! Reader arrives at the manor some time after Damian, which means that not only have all relationships been formed over the years, Bruce has also experienced having kids, as well as having a biological child suddenly enter his life. they're a fish out of the water, and their dad is kinda awkward about this (apparently) normal child that showed up at his doorstep. while Damian is still kind of adapting, running around at night trying to bypass Bruce's security system and solve dangerous cases by himself, P&F! Reader is in their bedroom having a virtual sleepover with their Metropolis friends, streaming movies and eating caramelized popcorn.

fun fact: Damian and P&F! Reader are neighbors. he was not happy about Alfred placing his half-sibling on the room right beside his for the longest time. P&F! Reader has definetly caught him sneaking out, but they're no snitch. and you're right, he does have more free time, and he's also on summer break so no school and no homework to worry about. He's got free time to be his sibling's keeper.

and as we all know, the impression that P&F! Reader is just a normal regular kid that totally doesn't build ridiculous thingamabobs in their spare time, it's kinda easy to forget they're there amidst the Wayne family mayhem(s). Bruce is also kinda doesn't really know what to do with this kid or how to connect with them, but they don't really demand immediate attention and seem to be doing fine – so he probably shouldn't worry too much, right?

you could also argue that he's kinda awkward (emotionally constipated) with this kid and is very bad at consoling and accomodating them after the trauma that made them have to move in with him. he doesn't straight up forget they exist, although he starts paying more attention to them after Damian gets more involved in ther bio sibling's antics. and when it comes to siblings, it's just easier for their relationship to never evolve past more superficial interactions (with the exception of Damian who decides to mind P&F! Reader's business earlier on, more or less). P&F! Reader doesn't know about the vigilantism for a long time, so it's natural that they're excluded from any and all matters regarding that. and because everyone else is so busy with their own lives and P&F! Reader seems to be doing fine, so easy to overlook, has plenty of friends in and out of their new school and the Batfam is already a formed unit... Well, you get the picture.

there's also the matter of Damian. he is the kid that "needs more attention" because of his background. he's been through a lot. nevermind the possibility that you might also have gone throguh your own fair share of trauma, at the end of the day you're the easier kid. the "okay" kid with regular problems. which is sad and unfair, but that's what we're here for, isn't it? and Dick is the biggest offender when it comes to that.

not that P&F! Reader is bothered by any of that! They have an amazing summer ahead of them. 😎 It's definetly Batfam being unlucky that prevents them from spending time with P&F! Reader, but that allowed them to mostly enjoy summer without being smothered by their family. the guilt would be unmatched, that is for sure.

"And who's to say she hadn't been doing this before this summer?"

hehe :)

vampire! Reader (she was not mentioned but I'm talking about her anyway, spoilers for the fic because i want to rant) is a different story. again, timing. she arrived at the manor sometime between Dick leaving for Bludhaven and Jason being brought in, so she didn't really get a chance to develop a deeper emotional connection with Dick. that also means Bruce was a lot younger when he is faced with a biological child being thrown at his door, not to mention the less-than-ideal-circumstances in which she came to be in his custody.

and after trying to make her his newest sidekick didn't work, in the coming years he would dedicate most of his time to fighting crime as Batman and taking care of/mentoring Jason who had a rough past and is now his new sidekick. connecting and relating to Jason was easier than connecting with Vampire! Reader, but he always made sure to check on her and make sure she was okay (and the answer was always yes, because of course it was).

during this time Jason and Vampire! Reader were actually pretty close, but then he, uh. kinda died horrifically. so not only was Vampire! Reader dealing with the loss of her brother, her father was now full-on neglecting her, self-absorbed in his grief, so she felt the proper thing to do would be repress her emotions to accomodate her father and try to be his emotional support. not that it worked, but she was there! so we have the emotional neglect and we have Vampire! Reader starting to take a parental role for her own father because he's not being a parent for her. she was also completely alone in that huge manor with the exception of Alfred because none of the other kids were in the picture yet, and Dick had long since moved out. as you can see, not very nice :)

from then on she just kinda blends into the background. financially she's provided for. she is her father's daughter, so communication and expressing emotion are not her forté, but she tries her best to connect with the incoming batkids. it does not work. i have said this before, but she is the mature child, the (again) normal one who puts other people's needs before her, so she doesn't complain when Bruce makes time for literally every other kid who becomes Robin except her. but don't be mistaken: Bruce is definetly more controlling and aware of Vampire! Reader in comparison to P&F! Reader due to reasons (guess you can say early yandere signs?). Jason too is... Sort of complicated. the situation here is definetly darker and resonates with tone of the story better. and when Bruce realizes how terrible he was? oh, boy.

so I guess you can play around a lot with the neglectful! Reader trope, and that's what makes it so entertaining. yeah. that's all I have to say for today, I guess??

[34to42]

Okay. So.

It’s no secret that I’ve been eagerly anticipating season 2 of The Night Agent so I made the very adult decision to take a vacation day from work and binge watch the whole thing in one day. And I have some thoughts.

Obviously spoilers lay ahead so please be aware of that before you continue reading if that’s something you care about. There might also be some swearing.

It’s not often we see a Netflix show get to season 2 and more importantly, have a season 2 that either lives up to or exceeds season 1 but I think The Night Agent is one of them. Season 2 is SUCH an experience, one that I was desperately worried about before it aired, and one that I am so happy I got to participate in now that it’s done. I was worried that the show would forget the events of season 1, that Rose would play a less integral role, that the show’s bigger and better storylines would be overdone, that they would play America as the hero when dealing with plot lines regarding international relations - none of those fears came true.

Though the showrunners were in uncharted territory having no other Matthew Quirk novels to adapt, they did a fantastic job in creating a new situation that felt similarly dire and equally as convoluted as the events of season 1. And the events of the previous season are directly referenced, and Rose continued to be integral, and the bigger and better storylines were handled well, in my opinion at least.

The overarching result of the events of season 2 however, has to be… tragedy. So many different characters have their lives upended, affected, or changed and it’s all just tragic. The character of Noor, an outstanding addition to the show, risking everything to get her family into a better situation only to lose her brother, traumatize her mother, and receive a cheque from a smiling bureaucrat for her efforts. Warren’s son Ethan, having to go through the betrayal of a friend (David), meeting his estranged father, getting so much conflicting information about his dad, only to lose him and be traumatized forever. Rose, desperately wanting a normal life but unable to fully process her grief and trauma because the only person she fully trusts left her and isn’t coming back. Even Alice’s family and the way they had to deal with their broken hearts when she took the Night Action job and stopped keeping in contact with them.

And finally… Peter.

Peter, who is a good man and wants to do the right thing but keeps getting into situations where the right choice has consequences. Who desperately wanted to clear his father’s name only to learn that it was all true and then have to make the same choices to save the one person he loves. The soul crushing tragedy of the scene with Peter and the broker in the rail car as he taunts Peter with the knowledge that by making the choices he did, he will become his father and follow in his footsteps. The absolute fucking agony on Peter’s face.

And then the tragedy of Peter telling Rose to forget him, because he knows that he cannot keep her safe and she will be used against him even though she means “everything” to him. 😭😭😭😭

My poor shipper heart.

Although I, and I suspect a lot of people, would have loved to see a happier ending for Peter and Rose, I will say that this one felt true to the story they were trying to tell. I can think of other ways this could have gone to get them that ending which I will definitely be exploring in fanfic but I can see why this choice was made. That scene in the hotel broke my fucking heart. Again, the absolute agony on Peter’s face.

So… yeah. Just, tragedy all around with this season.

I do want to mention a few things that I really appreciated about the new episodes. First, that Rose continued to not be a damsel in distress but rather continuously came to Peter’s aid and helped him out, much as she did in the first season. Second, the character of Javad was INCREDIBLY acted by Keon Alexander and made for an excellent villain, even if not the ultimate one. Holy shit, watching the shifts from romantic interest to quiet, seething menace on his face and in his demeanour throughout the show were so compelling. Third, all the scenes between characters at the Iranian mission. I was really worried this storyline would feel rushed but instead we got so many sweet moments between characters such as Haleh and Noor and an insight into their relationships.

Some specific moments I loved:

- Noor wearing her friend’s headscarf to the event at the mission

- Haleh warning Noor that Javad knew she was at the UN even though it could have cost her her job

- The ambassador’s handling of how to get Javad out of the mission, such a stroke of brilliance

- Rose’s conversation with Catherine where she told her off for talking about her aunt and uncle because she didn’t know them

- Peter holding doors open for Rose even when they were trying to get away from gunmen

- Peter immediately crawling into bed with Rose when she was having a nightmare

- Basically ever scene with Peter and Rose

- the fight scenes, they felt incredibly realistic and used a lot of elements from around the scene

- Peter and Rose’s silent communication regarding shooting Markus, it was so awesome to see them in sync like that

- Rose’s speech to Tomăs regarding the chemical weapons, she was able to get through to him even without any type of training because she is awesome

- Peter’s immediate confidence in Rose when Catherine asked “who knew she could do that?” Fuck, that was an awesome moment

- Peter and Noor’s conversation on the steps of the UN where she understood why he did what he did and accepted his apology by holding out her hand. The number of times Peter did and tried to apologize to Noor for her brother because he wants to do the right thing

Despite how much I loved the new season, I do have a few lingering questions and complaints that I also wanted to write out in case anyone else is struggling with them:

- How did the broker know to contact Rose at the beginning of the season if Peter’s name and involvement in Camp David were scrubbed?

- that President Travers wasn’t in more episodes. I really, really appreciated the way she stood up for Peter in front of Catherine at the beginning and wish there could have been some follow through later on in the season

- it feels like Rose and the doctor could have maybe thought of knockout gas a little earlier? I understand why the show did what they did for the plot but it didn’t ring quite true that they would both make so many cannisters of KX without trying something to get out of there

- Soloman’s speech to Peter as he was taking him to meet the broker regarding the one agent of theirs Peter killed in Bangkok. How they all attended his funeral and he had 40-some people who loved him. Dude, YOU killed Peter’s partner!! That whole speech just felt off.

- the character of Catherine. Things improved towards the end of the season but I really didn’t like the character at the beginning and especially didn’t like the way she spoke about Peter. It isn’t his fault that they sent him in without a lot of training and it was her job to make sure he was ready

- Peter’s tattoos being gone. I understand why it makes sense that a spy cannot have very identifiable tattoos but come on. I think we can all agree that Gabe’s tattoos are incredibly hot and we should be able to see them

So, those are my thoughts. I’m sure I’ll have more once the dust settles from watching all the episodes in one day but for now, I hope you enjoy the new season as much as I did.